On A Wicked Dawn by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page B

instant’s pause, he continued, “I’ll still be seeing Robert—I don’t intend giving up my interest in such endeavors.”
    His mother opened her eyes at him, then smiled and patted his arm. “Darling, if your interests truly lie in that direction—rather than the other—then I’m certainly not going to complain.”
    The laughter in her voice, the light that now glowed undimmed in her eyes—the way her spirits in the space of a day had lifted—made all his hard work worthwhile. As he led her on to greet the Mountfords, and heard Emily and Anne’s gowns shushing as they followed, Luc mentally acknowledged that, despite the trials of the years—despite his father’s efforts and those more recently of Edward—he was yet a lucky man.
    And about to get luckier. The thought echoed in his mind when, having settled his mother on a chaise beside Lady Horatia Cynster, Amelia’s aunt, he finally caught sight of his bride-to-be. She was whirling down a country dance, oblivious as yet of his presence. Curls jouncing, she was laughing up at Geoffrey Melrose, her partner; Luc wasn’t enamored of the sight.
    His sisters’ and Fiona’s hands had also been claimed; they, too, were on the floor. Luc fixed his gaze on Amelia, waited . . .
    She glanced around, saw him—and missed her next step. She quickly looked away, readjusted to the dance; she didn’t glance his way again. However, at the end of the measure, she glided over to join his sisters. As throughout this Season both she and Amanda had been assiduous in easing Emily’sand Anne’s way—a selfless act for which he was more grateful than he had any intention of ever telling either twin—no one saw anything unusual in her making one of their circle.
    Not one gossipmonger so much as raised a brow when he strolled across the ballroom to join the group.
    They were a colorful and handsome company; the three younger girls, all brown-haired, all somewhat shorter than Amelia, wore gowns of pastel blue and pink, petals surrounded by the gentlemen’s darker coats. At the center, Amelia glowed in a silk gown of muted gold. The shade emphasized the ivory perfection of her skin, turned her hair a more definite gold, made her eyes a more intense, more startling blue.
    Emily’s, Anne’s, and Fiona’s partners had lingered to chat; three other young gentlemen had come up, hoping to secure the girls’ hands for the next dance. To Luc’s irritation, Melrose had followed Amelia, and Hardcastle had ambled up, casting covetous eyes over her slender form. Hiding his instinctive snarl behind an easy smile, he bowed to Amelia, nodded to both gentlemen, adroitly maneuvering so he ended by Amelia’s side.
    She noticed, but other than one glance, gave no sign. After casting a comprehensive glance over his sisters, Fiona and their beaux, he left them, for once, to fend for themselves and turned his attention to Amelia.
    To eliminating a potential problem.
    â€œI heard,” he murmured into the first lull in the conversation, “that Toby Mick was likely to meet The Gnasher at Derby.”
    Amelia stared at him; Melrose looked slightly shocked. It was an unwritten rule that gentlemen did not discuss such bloodthirsty subjects as the exploits of the Fancy in the presence of ladies.
    Hardcastle, however, positively vibrated with pent-up enthusiasm. He bent a pleading look on Amelia. “You don’t mind, do you, my dear?” Without waiting for any reply, he pounced. “It’s quite true—I had it from Gilroy himself.They say it’ll be all over in three rounds, but—“
    Melrose was torn. Luc merely waited, feigning mild interest, pretending not to notice Amelia’s sharp glance.
    â€œAnd there’s talk that now they’ve doubled the purse, Cartwright is considering throwing his hat into the ring.”
    The mention of the latest